By night an atheist half-believes in God.

Death! great proprietor of all! 'tis thine To tread out empire, and to quench the stars.

The future... seems to me no unified dream but a mince pie, long in the baking, never quite done

I've known my lady (for she loves a tune) For fevers take an opera in June: And, though perhaps you'll think the practice bold, A midnight park is sov'reign for a cold.

Men before you have quit smoking - you can too!

Be wise to-day; 't is madness to defer.

The man who builds, and wants wherewith to pay, Provides a home from which to run away.